


Art and science

by CloeLockless



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: hp_silencio, Crushes, Harry Potter Next Generation, Hogwarts, M/M, No Dialogue, Pre-Slash, Quidditch, Ravenclaw Scorpius Malfoy, Teen Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2020-05-20 09:08:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19373611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CloeLockless/pseuds/CloeLockless
Summary: Albusreallynotices Scorpius for the first time while commentating for a Quidditch game.





	Art and science

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JosephineStone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JosephineStone/gifts).



> Repost from the 2015 livejournal Silencio challenge.
> 
> I don’t know if I spiced up the prompt or circumvented the problem but I had this idea of trying to write a dialogue-free narrative in a scene where both characters would be talking constantly. So here it is :)
> 
> Thanks for the inspiration, Josephine!

**Art and Science**

With a former Harpy for a mother and their father the youngest Seeker in Hogwarts history (yet), it was expected of the Potter children to be born Quidditch players. James had become a Beater in his fourth year. Lily was biding her time and spent every holiday training to claim the Seeker position in her third year. As for Albus, he’d spent his childhood happily bruising himself falling off the children’s broom and turning each attempt and fall into an epic narrative. He was a lousy flyer. He hadn’t inherited his parents ease but definitely had inherited the knack for Quidditch and his mother’s critical eye and reporter’s skills. He hadn’t become the youngest pitch commentator in Hogwarts’s history, but he was the one who came up with the idea of having the commentaries broadcast on the Wizarding Network so that parents and siblings who couldn’t come to the games could follow the players’ feats.

He was determined. If there was one Potter child with a Quidditch-related career, it would be him. And he was the best. He knew it the day James’s girlfriend had held out her arm for him to write his catchphrase on as an autograph. This was all he ever did. At home, he’d always read the Sports page out loud for the family, only letting little Lily stumble through it when James was fed up with his voice.

He liked the duets best. Lily was the most adorable sidekick; Hugo was a great partner as a kid, but he was growing more sulky than fun. Albus’s world changed when mid-fifth year, he first had to commentate with Scorpius Malfoy.

Malfoy had been a Chaser on the Ravenclaw team in their third and fourth years. He was a good flyer, excellent passer, scored a few remarkable goals, but he was an even keener observer. Within days after the first game of the season, he’d dropped out of the team, sticking as a reserve for a while, but eventually giving up entirely. His interest in playing had decreased over time—Al had seen it in the way he played over the months—always focused and determined but slacker in pace than he used to be. Maybe he had finally decided he liked Quidditch better as an observer than as a player.

Anyway, if Al had felt a bit sad witnessing decent potential going to waste, he was excited to get to team up with Malfoy. He didn’t know him very well as a person. They never had many classes together and their group of friends didn’t mingle. They knew each other from Quidditch—Malfoy knew Al through his commentaries, which must have given away something of himself, and Al knew Malfoy’s way of moving like the back of his hand. Ever since he knew he would pair up with Malfoy for the Slytherin vs. Hufflepuff game, Al had started to watch the way he moved on solid ground, too. It would be interesting to study him up close.

Today, he would have to call him Scorpius—like the professionals did on the Wireless. Though he was used to his last name, the given name came easily in his head. They met once—briefly—before the game. Scorpius looked a bit guarded yet easy-going—like he was thinking all the time yet mindful of the people around him. He had clear eyes that gave him a gentle expression, although Al knew he could be fierce on the pitch. They shook hands like professionals and snorted like fools. He looked like they could get on well.

After the whistle blew, it quickly became obvious that they made a good match. With Scorpius’s predecessor, Al had had the feeling that he had to fight not to be relegated to the role of sidekick (which wasn’t a problem per se – Alexia was just a bit too much of a control-freak for his taste) but with Scorpius, finding out their dynamics became a thrilling experience. They swiftly relayed each other, picking up seamlessly, knowing when and how to pull back when their voices overlapped, filling in when a drink was needed. Of course there were jarring notes at first, but Al never felt any tension or unease, only the promise of enjoyable chemistry.

It was almost a shame that they couldn’t talk. Al found himself casting more and more glances Scorpius’s way as minutes and hours flew by. He couldn’t wait for the game to end, so that they could get to know each other better. And yet it was fun to become friends through a public, _Sonorus_ ed—and therefore only artificially personal—exchange. They were becoming friends, he knew it, for there was no other way to interpret the intense feeling of elation he was experiencing. Sounding like partners in crime was a craft, it was their job today; but hopefully it wasn’t just a pose.

Scorpius caught his eye, and smiled. This couldn’t happen often, as they had to focus on the pitch and make sure they didn’t miss a beat of the action, but it happening at all had to be a clue.

And Scorpius was beautiful. Al caught himself closing his eyes once or twice as he listened to Scorpius’s voice. When he turned his head to see what Scorpius had spotted at the other end of the pitch, his gaze would stray first to the lines of his face, or he would be distracted by his blond hair ruffling in the wind. The thought became a bit obsessive. It was a good thing he had their commentary to focus on—good thing, too, that he was practised, or he might have had a few blanks. Instead, watching out for players’ names let him process his emotions at the back of his mind.

When they took a break at the 97th minute, letting the other pair take over for twenty minutes, Al’s mind was reeling with adrenaline. The _Sonorus_ off, Al fell into an uneasy silence. He wanted to say something to Scorpius but the latter was drinking, looking elsewhere and Al was at a loss for words. When he looked at Scorpius again, the boy grinned brightly and Al could only mirror his expression; Scorpius was stretching his back, elbows in the air and hands crossed between his shoulder blades. His eyes gleamed softly, but as the two boys looked at each other, Scorpius pressed his lips into a thinner smile; Al understood—he wanted to rest his voice a bit—it was Scorpius’s first time commentating a full game after all. They didn’t need to talk anyway.

Al leaned over the railing and rested his chin on his arms. They had to keep an eye out so they could hop back in in case the Snitch was caught before their break was over. Scorpius re-arranged their notes. Al wordlessly handed him a piece of parchment which he saw Scorpius was looking for, and when their fingers touched and Scorpius thanked him with another smile, Al felt the air catch in his chest.

He had never felt this with his other commentary partners. He couldn’t help remembering Scorpius catching and throwing the Quaffle on the field, all the while gripping his broom with a gloved hand—a hand that was flexing over his knee now, as he scratched it absently through the taut fabric of his trousers. They were slowly starting to look like men at their age. Maybe Scorpius had stopped playing because of growing pains. Al hoped he wouldn’t become much taller than him.

He blushed.

He hid his face and took a deep breath. This was new, and not good. Not good at all. It did feel good, but it was not the time. He lifted his head again, gazing at the pitch, chewing on the inside of his cheek. He had always fantasized about making out with someone up here in the Quidditch stands; he’d mock flirted with the Hufflepuff commentator (a girl) once, in his third year in the referee stand, before realizing it was only fun once for those listening to them. Only recently had he started picturing a boy’s body against his on the benches while wanking in bed, as long as it drove him over the edge. But damn, Scorpius was hot.

Al squirmed on his seat. Less than two hours close to him and that was all it took. He had to calm down or someone would notice, or worse—Scorpius might ask questions. He trusted himself to get back on track when they would pick up the game again but he didn’t trust his un- _Sonorus_ ed voice right now. His throat was drier than usual. Scorpius was driving him crazy with his easy movements on his seat. As if all the energy he was capable of on a broom was there at a hand’s reach—right there by Al’s side. He could picture these hands grabbing the Quaffle. And the broom, dear Merlin. He took a large swig from the water flask.

Unfortunately, his treacherous eyes strayed to the side and caught Scorpius’s. The other boy was watching him, and the intensity his eye colour gave to his gaze made Al choke on his drink.

He was going to die. He shook his head and his finger when Scorpius moved to pat him on the back or something; the blond backed off, raising his hands in an offer of peace, looking amused but cautious.

Al caught his breath and took another tentative swig, this time carefully avoiding Scorpius’s eyes. Face. Body. He swiped his mouth with the back of his hand and closed his eyes. When he opened them, and looked at Scorpius again, Scorpius quirked an eyebrow. The good thing was, with his fit of coughing, his arousal had abated; the odd thing was, before Scorpius had regained his composure and raised an eyebrow, Al could have sworn he had seen him jump a little.

Scorpius looked away.

Al’s heart skipped a few beats. He wanted Scorpius to say something. He wanted them to talk and find a safe topic to bring their interaction back to normal Quidditch stuff.

He discreetly cleared his throat and reached out to tap on Scorpius’s shoulder. Yet he couldn’t follow through as the excited shrieks of the crowd and the substitutes suddenly brought them back to the action. They grabbed their wands and jumped back in. His heart pounding in his chest, Al decided he would get through the end of the game no matter what, professionally. His new feelings could wait. Scorpius grabbed his shoulder then let go when there was a close catch. For a moment Al’s stomach fluttered like he’d swallowed a million butterflies, but he held on.

…

In the end, Slytherin won, taking their revenge from the previous year against Hufflepuff. When they stopped talking for good, Al let his ears be filled with their teachers’ chattering. His neck felt stiff and his throat was sore. He was sure he shared this feeling with the players—both elated and glad it was over. He loved how smoothly Scorpius and him had wrapped up the game, how they looked at each other before taking the _Sonorus_ off.

He wondered if he’d have to go back to calling him Malfoy now that they were no longer putting up a show. His inappropriate reaction aside—which he was now trying to dismiss as an overflow of game excitement—he felt a little shy about interacting with Scorpius without the audience’s expectations to fulfil. It was just the two of them now. Well, whenever the Heads of Houses had finished shaking Scorpius’s hand and his.

When it was time to head back, Scorpius waited for him at the top of the stairs. He didn’t seem in a hurry to go find his friends, which pleased Al just a tad too much. He took ages closing his bag, dreading the moment when they would have to part ways, unable to come up with a valid, objective reason why they should stick together for another couple of hours. He knew he would make a fool of himself trying to suggest anything, especially if the Ravenclaws were being Ravenclaws and wanted to go back to the castle to study, instead of bumming around the Hogwarts grounds until dinnertime. Their parting was bound to be awkward. But Al pushed his worries away and smiled; the stairs back down to the ground were still a long way to go—who knew what could happen?


End file.
